


The Lord of the Forest

by SouthernContinentSkies



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fairies, M/M, Pre-Slash, Vaguely Medieval setting, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:34:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27146716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernContinentSkies/pseuds/SouthernContinentSkies
Summary: The villagers said that if you wandered too far into the forest, the fairies would steal you away. Kerrick never believed them. Besides, it's not stealing if you want to be taken.
Relationships: The Forest King/OMC
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23
Collections: Trick or Treat Exchange 2020





	The Lord of the Forest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fair_Feather_Friend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fair_Feather_Friend/gifts).



The forest was dark, and deep, and Kerrick was lost. He had stumbled off the trail more than an hour into his flight from the Duke’s men, once he realized that he couldn’t keep running forever, and that his chances of escaping detection were at least slightly greater if they didn’t trip over him passed out on the path. He had intended to circle around and return to the forest edge a few miles south of where he’d entered. As the short autumn afternoon wore onwards into sunset, with no sign of any light from a thinning tree cover to point him towards his goal, he was beginning to think that had been a mistake.

Kerrick was no stranger to the woods; he spent more time wandering underneath its moss-draped branches than over the grassy hills and fields on the other side of the village. The villagers either thought him strange for this, or assumed he was poaching. (He _was_ poaching, but only a little - though the Duke’s men-at-arms apparently objected regardless.) None of the other villagers would venture farther than the outskirts, and then only to gather what firewood they absolutely needed. Farther in, the forest became a wild tangle of thorny undergrowth and very old trees, and, if you listened to village gossip, all manner of spirits and fairies waiting to lure in the unwary and steal them away. Kerrick, who over the years had come face to face with innumerable small animals, several bears, and once a magnificent twelve-point stag - but no fairies - dismissed this as small-minded village superstition. Or a tale the Duke himself had set about, to ward off any ambitious unauthorized hunters.

Even if the stories were true, the Forest Folk were probably better company than the villagers. Kerrick knew he was a bit odd, by their standards, but just because he had his head in the clouds a lot of the time, didn’t give them the right to yell at him. He got his work done, didn’t he? What was it to them if he daydreamed? And what was it to the Duke if he trapped a few rabbits now and then? His Grace wasn’t going to bother with them. It wasn’t like Kerrick was going after the boar.

By now, the sun was below the horizon, and the woods around Kerrick were growing dark, with no further sign that he was approaching the outskirts. Instead, he seemed to be in a part of the forest he’d never seen before. The roots and branches twisted and intertwined with one another, forming almost impenetrable walls between the trunks. The fading sunlight showed the color of the leaves on the trees to be deeper and richer than the nondescript browns around the village; the crowns of the oaks glowed gold and bronze in the twilight.

As the last rays of sunset disappeared, other lights appeared in the branches: not glinting leaves, but glowing balls of light - will-o-the-wisps. As Kerrick watched in astonishment, they danced around the leaves, bobbing around the trunks like the movements of some inscrutable dance. One even darted close to his face - he pulled back in alarm - before slipping away, deeper into the forest. One by one, the rest followed, leaving the clearing to fall further into the oncoming darkness of night.

Kerrick, frozen, hesitated. Following wisps in the forest was exactly what every villager’s story said _not_ to do. On the other hand, it was dark, and he was lost. If he went, he might get kidnapped by fairies; if he stayed, he might get eaten by a bear. It wasn’t much of a choice. Then again, at least with the hypothetical fairies, he’d still be alive - unless the wisps were leading him into some sinkhole for their own amusement. That was another version of the tale, and probably a more likely one.

The wisps were almost out of sight. Kerrick sighed, choking it off before it could turn into an hysterical giggle, and hurried after them, before he could be swallowed by the dark.

As he walked on, the idea of a sinkhole became less and less likely. The intertwined branches on the trees on either side closed in even further, but the ground below Kerrick’s feet became more even, until the smooth, packed dirt almost resembled a trail. Eventually, the trail ran up against a wall of close-packed trees, winding through what seemed to be the only gap. The wisps disappeared through it, and Kerrick, with only the shortest glance behind him at the darkness, squared his shoulders and followed after them.

Through the gap, the wall of trees immediately gave way into a clearing. It was huge, easily a field’s width across, but somehow not open to the sky; the crowns of the trees stretched over it until they touched each other, and the points of light above him were not stars, but wisps, dancing through the golden canopy. The ground beneath them was empty, apart from its covering of golden leaves, and one large boulder in the center. Kerrick stared around him, astonished. After years rambling through these woods, he had thought he had the measure of the place, but that was clearly wrong. How could he have missed something so large - and so beautiful?

Kerrick was so preoccupied with his new surroundings that he almost missed it when they changed. A rustling from the center of the clearing heralded a handful of thick vines, sprouting suddenly from the ground around the boulder. They twined upwards, growing more quickly than Kerrick had ever seen. But more jarring still - on the other side of the clearing, emerging from between two massive, knotted trunks of oak, was someone else.

The figure looked something like a man, but very tall, and draped in a cloak or robe that looked as if it were made of trailing moss. A pair of elaborate, branching horns extended from his head, like some fantastic headdress, or a wilder, more jagged version of the antlers of a stag. As he drew closer, Kerrick looked again, and saw they were not horns, but branches: nut-brown and knarled like the oaks around them, with holly growing over them like a crown. The face beneath them was a man’s face, but ageless, and the brown skin was strangely textured, as though shaped from bark.

Caught between sudden wonder and a vague idea of the terror he thought he ought to feel, Kerrick stood frozen as the figure drifted towards the center of the clearing. The fallen leaves shifted around his feet as he walked - though they seemed to draw closer, rather than be moved away. By the time he reached the boulder, the creeping vines had grown far enough around it to describe a seat - or perhaps a throne.

“Welcome, wanderer,” the figure said, settling himself into the embrace of the vines. His voice was low and rich, and it whispered across the clearing to Kerrick’s ears like roots reaching deep for water. “I have seen you often, in among my trees, and heard you speak to them like friends. Come closer, if you will; I would meet the man who loves my forest like his own.”

“Who are you?” Kerrick managed, his mouth dry. “Are you the king of the fairies?”

The figure cocked his head. “I am the lord of this forest; I can claim no more than that. And who are you, who so determinedly seeks my protection?”

Kerrick swallowed, and made himself step closer to the throne. “My name is Kerrick, my lord. I’m just a villager.”

“You are more than that,” the Lord of the Forest said. “You have been a hunter, and a forager, and a sleeper, at times, in these woods. You have eaten its food, and followed its springs to drink. You are a villager only if you choose to be.”

Kerrick’s eyes widened at the mention of his hunting. “I’m sorry, my lord! I didn’t realize anyone but the Duke - are you angry?”

“Of course not,” said the Lord of the Forest. “All the creatures of the woods must eat. There is no crime in that.”

“The Duke’s men don’t think so,” Kerrick said. “The other men, with their dogs, following me. Are they here, too?”

“They are not,” said the Lord of the Forest. “I turned their steps away from you, and they could not find this place with twice their numbers. You are safe.”

“For now,” Kerrick said bitterly, before he could stop himself. “They’ll find me the minute I go back to the village.” 

The Lord of the Forest tilted his head. The golden light from the wisps glinted off his dark eyes, and scattered off the rough planes of his cheekbones. “Do you have to go back?”

“Well…” Kerrick trailed off, confused. “Don’t I?”

“You certainly may,” the Lord of the Forest said, rising from his seat of vines and stepping towards Kerrick. His robe trailed over the ground, and a train of dancing golden leaves followed him, playing in his wake.

“Or,” he continued, stopping in front of Kerrick, his knotted hand coming up to brush Kerrick’s hair back at the temple, “you could stay here. All the creatures of the forest have a place with me.”

Kerrick’s breath caught. The Lord of the Forest’s eyes were dark, like deep, still pools, and in them Kerrick fancied he could see the dappled autumn sun on the underbrush, and all the paths and byways of the woods where he had always felt at home. He thought of staying, hunting and wandering through the trees forever - and of the dogs and torches and anger waiting for him in the village.

“Yes,” he said, reaching up to cover the hand of the Lord of the Forest with his own. “I suppose I could.”


End file.
